Blinded By Prejudice by KaraLynne Mackrory
Chapter Seven
In a dizzying flash, my sister transformed into an agitated and nervous wreck. Her eyes could not meet mine, yet she was speaking far too quickly for my mind to grasp whatever sins she felt compelled to confess.
“Oh, Lizzy, it is all my fault! If I had not…but you will not thank me for it. And to think your happiness is all I have ever wished—”
“Jane!” I had spoken her name many times to cease her rapid, distressed speech but to no avail until now. The volume of my voice left us both speechless, she with concern and I with agony.
My sister began again, this time with unintelligible expressions and half sobs as she swept her hands down my chin and smoothed my hair. I focused on the softness of her touch and the pain ebbed away. With gentle hands, I latched onto hers and spoke calmly, curious and not a little frightened to see the measure of distress in her features.
“Oh, Sister, come and calm yourself. What is this nonsense you speak of?”
Jane complied, and as careful as a butterfly, she rested herself again on the side of my bed, mindful not to jostle the mattress. Her eyes were more troubled than I had ever seen them, and I wondered at this. In a twinkling, I understood she felt responsible for my injuries for some unfathomable reason. Before I could so much as begin to refute what I saw in her eyes, she spoke. The halting, almost penitent sound of her voice only added to the foreboding, troubled feeling stretching my heart.
“If you only knew how much I questioned my judgment that night, Lizzy. I never slept a wink, and I could not but feel I had made the most egregious error. I believed I had likely cost you your life!”
“Jane…”
“Mr Bingley, Papa, they both assured me it was for the best, but I cannot think now that you are saved…that perhaps if I had not insisted…and when I think of Miss Bingley and our cousin. Oh, let me know you will not be made unhappy!”
Jane was getting carried away and making no more sense than before. What had Mr Collins and Miss Bingley to do with my injuries? Had the whole world gone mad when the earth moved? Nobody was responsible for my pains but an act of God that could not have been avoided!
“I hope in time you may come to…but perhaps it is just my conscience creating fancies to assuage my guilt. He cannot be all bad, for he is a dear friend of Mr Bingley, yet…”
My head was whirling now, and not just from trying to follow Jane’s fevered and disjointed confession. I closed my eyes to keep the room from spinning as well. In the blissful black behind my lids, I thought of that day. Parts were clear, but much of it was as dark as my vision now. I recalled—with a clarity that almost made me think I was back—the smell of our collapsed earthen shelter. Damp soil, but with lemon and sandalwood; the latter, Mr Darcy’s scent, I now realised. As my mind slowed its twirling, the memory of those scents was replaced by the lavender of Jane’s toilet water and the cool breeze from the window carrying in the smell of autumn leaves. With this bit of reality, I was ready to open my eyes again.
“Jane, please do not distress yourself. I shall be well in time.” Although I had not sorted through the jumbled mess of my sister’s utterances, I could no longer take her agonising speech.
With a sniffle, she nodded, grasping my hand in a fierce grip. “I asked it of Mr Bingley. I know he would not have given up if I had not. And I fear you will not thank me for preventing a more immediate rescue.”
“The consequences of that day could not have been avoided had you been able to safely dig us out immediately. Can you not see? What is done is done, and I do not believe I shall suffer for it all my life.”
The relief my words gave my poor sister was immediate, and she sagged physically as if no longer required to hold a great burden. I could not imagine what fear she might have felt. I know if I had seen her buried alive, I would have felt all the panic and horror she had so gracefully shouldered these many days. My heart called to her in tenderness for her great care for me. Surely the apothecary had explained to her that my ribs would heal completely in time? I could not imagine why she would look at me as if I were facing a life sentence of sorts. Yet she clearly worried a great deal. Any emotional toll was compounded as a result. When she insisted Mr Bingley cease the rescue until a safer time and with more aid, it had been the right thing. It was correct of her to stop him, and I did not like her blaming herself for my injuries when they would have been the same had we been rescued immediately or the next day as we had. There simply was not anything for which Jane should have felt guilt.
I sat up, ignoring the objections from my sides, and held her to me. As I murmured words of comfort and assurance, gratitude for her love and concern, and affirmations of my tender regard for her, I could not shake free from a shadow that seemed to sit just outside of my awareness.
In time we separated, and I insisted on lighter topics. No more gloom and reflection. I was healing already, and even though the fog of the laudanum was still lifting, I was not made for ill-humour and sought lighter subjects. While I blew gently to cool the cup of tea Jane had prepared for me, I asked her about the past few days while I was deep in the stupor of the apothecary’s elixir. Mr Darcy stayed a spectre in my thoughts, and I consigned myself to asking after him soon. It was only right, and my conscience told me so. Any feeling human would wish to know how he was; it meant nothing more. For now, seeing the brightness in my sister’s eyes justified my delay. Mr Bingley, it seemed, had called frequently to speak to my father and Mr Collins, and, of course, to see Jane.
The bloom in her cheeks told me that the sentiments of that gentleman were far from indifferent, even while he was visiting on less tasteful business than wooing my dearest sister. Mr Collins required persuasion, it seemed, to not set off with all haste for Netherfield to do his duty as a gentleman and save Miss Bingley’s reputation. I laughed softly at the recounting Jane gave of the many times our father and Mr Bingley were required to insist he wait and allow the lady to recover.
“Was Miss Bingley very much injured by their slide down the slope?”
Jane smirked, shaking her head softly as she traded my now empty cup with a plate of shortcake. “Overwrought emotionally, I understand. She kept to her room for many days. I believe Mr Bingley explained the consequences of her fall and the number of witnesses to it in the form of the grooms at the carriages.”
“I imagine I would be quite unwell to learn I was to wed such an ill-matched suitor.”
A shadow passed over Jane’s eyes and her mouth opened to reply, but a knock on my door prevented it. Our father peeked around the side of the door and his eyes crinkled at the sight of me sitting up.
I reached my hand to him and was pleased and surprisingly emotional to have him take it and seat himself at the side of my bed.
“My dear girl, you gave your Papa a great deal of fright. Aged me a decade, I would guess.”
I smiled broadly at him and squeezed his hand in return. “I shall endeavour to remember your sensibilities next time I am caught in a landslide and be sure to stand clear.”
He laughed as I had hoped he would, and we three settled into a comfortable visit. It was pleasant having my two favourite people with me while I munched on cook’s shortcake and relished in the way my head gained clarity. It was a rare occurrence to have such sensible conversation with calm and quiet. Speaking of…
“Where are my mother and sisters? It is far too quiet in this house for them to be here.”
A look passed between Jane and Papa, and my attention was riveted on them. It was my father who at last spoke.
“Your mother and her three very silly daughters have gone to London to visit the Gardiners for a few weeks for some shopping.”
Perhaps my stunned and offended feelings were not so hidden as I thought, for Jane was quick to assure me that they were very concerned for my health.
“Yes, so concerned I was buried alive that they were compelled to buy new gowns and fripperies to alleviate their great worry.” I had nearly died! And my mother and sisters left for a pleasure trip to the shops of Bond Street?
“In a way, yes, Lizzy.”
Displeased I shot my father a disbelieving look.
“It was that or give your mother her own regimen of laudanum.”
“Papa,” Jane admonished at his cavalier joke.
“I fear you will both have to do better than that if you wish me to understand and not take offence that before I am even able to sit up on my own, half of my family deserts me.”
Again the two exchanged a look, and I cleared my throat.
With a sigh, my father explained that my mother was quite distressed at my injuries. So much so that her vocal and repeated exclamations of worry were deemed inconducive to my recovery by Mr Jones. It had been a topic of debate to dose both her and me, though for different reasons. Chief among her concerns was that I might have been maimed and disfigured. Added to this horror, my mother was no doubt beyond comforting upon learning that the heir to Longbourn would wed, and the bride would not be one of her own worthy daughters but Miss Bingley. I learned then that the betrothal had not been officially settled, as Miss Bingley was still being persuaded to allow Mr Collins to pay his addresses. This little bit of information brought a smile to my lips as I thought of poor Mr Bingley’s Herculean efforts on that front.
Adding to this insult and the dashing of my mother’s dearly-held hopes, were still more grievances to account. To a lesser extent, but first on my younger sisters’ list of offences against them, excepting perhaps Mary, was the fact that this natural disaster—it could be described as no less to Mrs Bennet—would result in a few weeks postponement, if not cancellation, of the ball at Netherfield that had been planned for just a few days after the pleasure trip to Bodden Chapel.
At this bit of news, I looked at Jane to gauge how she felt about this development. I knew she had been eagerly awaiting the night, and all her hopes had been placed in that ball for securing forever her most cherished wish regarding Mr Bingley. Jane reassured me with a squeeze of her hand. Dearest Jane, always putting others’ happiness before her own. Unlike my younger sisters, she would not begrudge the loss of such a much-anticipated event to focus her efforts on my recovery.
“I wrote an express to your aunt and uncle Gardiner and received a reply as soon as could be. It was very little work after that to convince Mrs Bennet that she ought to leave the worry of your care to Jane and me, and allow Mrs Gardiner to help her and the girls choose some new items for such a time as the ball at Netherfield was rearranged.”
“Mr and Mrs Gardiner will not have an easy time of it, I fear,” was my reply, realising that the quiet of the house was perhaps a greater blessing, and the offense of their decampment on so flimsy an excuse should not warrant my hurt but engender my gratitude.
“No, I believe you have the right of it. They have done us a good turn, Lizzy, and I cannot help but be glad of it. Especially to see you sitting up and with so much more colour in your cheeks than was present in the past few days.”
“Thank you, Papa and Jane. You have the rewards of your good care before you. I do feel better, and in time I shall be put to rights, you will see.”
My father offered to read to me for a time, and I happily accepted. My thoughts soon became lost as the comforting bass tones of my father’s voice melodiously floated about the room. Jane quietly tidied the tea things and rang the bell to pass them off to the maid who came to the summons. Inevitably, it seemed, my thoughts turned once more to the gentleman who had heroically jumped towards danger in an effort to protect me from the peril only he had seen coming.
It puzzled me, this act of bravery, for it did not seem to fit with what I knew of his character. Perhaps it was only an impulse of the moment, a snap decision that caused him to leap into hazard rather than flee from it. Yet I could not entirely write it off as easily as that. There had been real fear in his eyes before he jumped towards me, and I could not believe it was for the calamity that was to come. As absurd as such a notion was, I could not help but feel in my core that he had been concerned for me. That something ill happening to me was unacceptable, perhaps even agonising to him.
I shook my head free of such an illogical thought. Mr Darcy and I had never understood each other, so how could I claim the slightest understanding of the sentiments portrayed in his eyes. He was raised a gentleman and simply acted the part of one when presented with the need to protect one of his party. But this, too, puzzled me. From all I had learned of him from his behaviour, I should have expected Mr Darcy to think of his own concerns above others.
I was beginning to feel the thoughts in my head swirl again as my mind recalled the tenderness and prompt concern Mr Darcy showed throughout the time we had been buried. Excepting for those moments when he had been unconscious, his entire focus and concern had been on securing my comfort.
A frustrated groan escaped my lips, and all too soon I regretted it, for my companions misinterpreted it to mean I was again suffering for my injuries. It was a near thing, but I was finally able to convince them both that I did not need to take any more of the Mr Jones’s tonic.
“Perhaps you ought to rest some more, Lizzy.”
I looked towards my father, a protest ready on my lips. Had I not already slept the better part of the days since my rescue? But even as I prepared to insist I was well, I felt exhaustion settle on my shoulders as if my father’s words had the power to bring it on.
“I suppose you are right. I shall just take a little rest.”
My father stood, and I watched with amusement as he patted his pockets absently as if he were searching for something. Then, finding his spectacles on the top of his head where he had placed them after reading, he returned them to his nose.
“I nearly forgot. I came up to see you, Lizzy, but also to see whether Jane might perhaps be able to decipher this scratch of sorts that Mr Bingley calls a letter.” My sister’s cheeks bloomed bright at the very notion she might be able to read Mr Bingley’s handwriting, having never seen it before. But my father went on, unaware of the embarrassment he produced in his eldest daughter. “This missive arrived an hour or so ago, and I cannot make it out. Here, Jane, tell me what you can decipher of your beau’s markings.”
I could not explain it, but in an instant, all traces of fatigue vanished and I was most eager to know what news from Netherfield.
“Papa, he is not my beau…,” Jane immediately and vehemently protested, even as she eagerly reached for the folded parchment. I laughed quietly as my father looked towards me with a wink.
We both watched as Jane held the letter tightly in her hands, eyes roving in awe all over it. It was not until my father cleared his throat that she recalled her purpose, and began to read it. Pausing at times, either because she had difficulty discerning the lettering or because she was exulting in becoming familiar with his handwriting, I did not know.
“‘Dear Sir, I have the pleasure of informing you that my’—here it looks like ‘sitter’ but I do believe he writes sister—‘is recovered enough to accompany me to Longbourn so that Mr Collins might settle this matter. If it is convenient, we shall call’”—Jane squinted at the paper, though her lips were forming a smile, not at all frustrated by the blots I could see through the back side of the page—“‘tomorrow!’”
Her triumphant smile made us both snicker.
“Well then, I am glad to hear of it. Mr Collins has nearly trod a path in my carpets with his eagerness to ‘uphold his honour’.”
I could not help the shudder that passed through me, thankful that I was not the poor woman to have to sit through the parson’s proposal and then to have no other choice but to accept at the end of it!
Jane’s head was again bent to the missive, and with a shared smirk, my father and I waited for her to translate more.
“‘Be advised that the delay in another’s call is not without explanation. I am asked to convey to Miss Elizabeth the following. That Mr Darcy wishes to inform her he will be consulting his London pheasant’—oh my dear, I think that is physician—‘and awaits the arrival of his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam and’—this time I know it is not sitter,” Jane giggled—“sister, Miss Darcy, who will join us at Netherfield shortly. Mr Darcy believes he will be well enough to travel to Longbourn as soon as his Mr Jones gives his opinion.’”
I could not fathom the reason that Mr Darcy should wish to inform me of any of this, though a part of me settled to hear something of his condition. His desire to consult with his London physician and that his relations were to come to Netherfield were none of my concern. I could only suppose he wished to assure me he was recovering from the accident as well. And while I would be glad of such news for any of my acquaintances—if only because I did not like to think I was unfeeling towards anyone’s injuries—it did not fit that I should also take a particular interest in the comings and goings of their family. My connexion to Mr Darcy was so trifling, it did not make sense. I was glad, of course, that Mr Darcy could have his family near him. Mine, such that had stayed to care for me, were of great comfort.
“I suppose I am glad to hear Mr Darcy will have his sister near him,” I said slowly, without much understanding. I could not think that Miss Darcy, if she were as proud as her brother, would be of any comfort to him, but perhaps I am discounting the fondness one might feel for a sibling.
Papa looked at me strangely. I looked to Jane who, still clutching the letter as if it were a dear possession now, had that same look of harrowed guilt in her eyes that she had had before.
“It speaks well of him, Lizzy, that he would not wish to distress you with unexplained delays.”
My brows shot up and I was astonished at my father. His words made little sense, but what caused my surprise was the note of seriousness in his voice. He seldom spoke with such admonishment, least of all to me.
Jane sat at my side and that doleful tone was in her voice again. “Oh, Lizzy.”
“Enough! I ought to take your advice and rest more, for I feel my head is slow today. I cannot help but feel as though I am missing something of import in all of this.”
Jane’s face showed her alarm and she looked to Papa for help. He merely studied me, as if he too felt an outsider to the topic at hand.
At last he turned to Jane and asked whether there was anything else in Mr Bingley’s letter. Jane frowned at him and I agreed with her. I did not care about Mr Bingley’s letter, I wished only to know why my sister looked at me with pity and concern, and why my father was receiving letters from Mr Bingley recounting Mr Darcy’s plans and intentions—
All comprehension of sound stopped, and my mind became empty like the fields after a heavy snow. Nothing but white emptiness until one word kept pushing its way through to my awareness. Intentions. Intentions. Mr Darcy’s intentions.
Numbly, I pushed myself down to lay flat on my back and stare at the blankness of my ceiling. I could not fathom it to be real. My heart felt skewered at the very idea. The disjointed words Jane uttered in her distress came back to me, as I realised she felt that if she perhaps had not asked Mr Bingley to stop digging for us, to wait for help, maybe they might have recovered us sooner. Why would she worry about that other than the obvious wish to see us well—except for the consequences I then faced for being entombed with a gentleman all night. With Mr Darcy.
Oh, good heavens! Mr Darcy was honour-bound to offer for me. To save my reputation. How entirely stupid I felt then for not having seen this natural result. I was expected to marry Mr Darcy. Each repetition of the astonishing statement did little to make it feel true. Panicked eyes turned towards my sister and father, and I searched for any hope that my disjointed and disquieting conclusion was false.
Jane could not meet my eyes and simply read the last of Mr Bingley’s letter. “‘Mr Darcy wishes you to know, sir, that he fully intends to honour the promise made to you the day of the accident when his health allows it’.”
“Come, my Lizzy, please tell me you realised you would need to marry the gentleman.”
My father’s voice was strained. I could see in his face a plea for absolution, for confirmation that he had not just wounded me with information so unpleasant as to make a joke of the word. He did not wish to have to be the bearer of bad news. I could see in the eyes of both he and Jane that they had hoped I had figured this repercussion out on my own and they would not be required to inform me of it. And indeed, I ought to have known this would be my fate. One does not spend the greater part of a day and all night in the close confines of another and hope to escape from such a consequence.
I felt incredibly dense. It was not only Miss Bingley who would gain a husband as the end result of that fateful day, but myself also.
I could not think on it now. Not with the watchful gazes of my family discerning all that was in my thoughts. I knew a revelation of this magnitude warranted solitude to work through the resulting riot of emotions. I could simply not think of it now.
With a forced smile, I turned to my relations to assure them of what was a gross falsehood. “Of course I understood that, Papa. It is considerate of Mr Darcy to keep us informed of the reasons for his delay.”
Reasons, I felt certain, included his own reluctance to the horrid obligation along with his injuries. This thought gave me the opening to further my ruse of unconcern on the topic of my matrimonial future and at once assuage the strange need to know which had haunted me that morning.
“How is Mr…the gentleman? Are his injuries serious?”
Instead of removing the worried lines from their foreheads, they deepened when I could not even utter his name. It was Jane who spoke next, in calm but careful tones.
“I do not know how to tell you this. Do remember, we have every reason to hope for a full recovery, indeed Mr Jones feels assured of it. But you see, at present…” she looked to my father but rallied her courage and returned her worried eyes to me. “At present, Mr Darcy is not in possession of his sight. The blow he received to the back of his head is the suspected reason. I do not rightly understand it, but Lizzy, the important thing is the doctor believes he will gain back the ability to see. He does not believe Mr Darcy’s blindness to be permanent.”
Another riot of thoughts, fears, and questions I would have to suppress for another time. The unreality of those minutes immediately after our rescue came back to me, and I recalled seeing Mr Darcy’s strange behaviour. It had been days since then, though, and he had not recovered his sight. I could see that my father and sister were quite distressed already, and I longed for the solitude a rest would warrant me, so I merely said, “I do recall he had a spot of trouble when we were rescued.”
“Apart from some severe megrims, which the doctor has said are common after a blow to the head and at present prevent him from travel, he is expected to recover.”
I smiled at my father for this. I did not know how to respond or what ought to be said. Certainly, I felt for the gentleman. I recalled a tenant farmer we had years ago who lost his sight after a fever and the anguishing consequences of it. I did not wish such an uncertain future on anyone. A disability of that nature, I would wager, would push Mr Darcy towards all kinds of unhappiness. He was an active sort, and if he were not to regain his sight…
No! I could not think on it.
“Yes, I am sure Mr Jones has the right of it. Mr Darcy will regain his sight soon enough, and with his London ‘pheasant’ coming, he will soon be set to rights.”
My poor attempt at levity fell flat but received grateful smiles nevertheless for the effort. I soon convinced my sister and father I was ready and wishing for my rest. But despite my fatigue and the sluggishness of my thoughts, it was quite some time after I was left to myself—staring blankly at the wall as I lay on my side—before any form of rest could be had.
Marry Mr Darcy. And he without sight.
I could not escape the thought whether my eyes were open or closed. With stubborn determination, I resolved to invest no more concern in the matter until it was settled. As the day trip to the ruins had proved, much change can occur in only a matter of seconds.